


Bloom

by Rosage



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/F, Paralogue spoilers, Pre-Relationship, no specified route
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-23 21:10:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21087899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosage/pseuds/Rosage
Summary: Bernadetta and Petra have both had to adapt. Doing it together may not be so bad.





	Bloom

**Author's Note:**

> Their paralogue made me want a follow-up A support and ending, so I wrote this. (The ending is that they’re wives.)

Bernadetta stands before her easel in the greenhouse. It's warmer than out in the cloudy weather, and leafy walls shield her from the war. Before her are the plants she and Petra snuck back from Brigid, thick ferns and pink cups rimmed with yellow. Once as vibrant as Petra, they're starting to droop, despite Bernadetta's nursing. All she can think to do is paint them before they wither.

A presence at Bernadetta's back makes her whirl, shielding the canvas with her body. She lets out a breath when she sees Petra. Few people are stealthy enough to sneak up on her, and fewer of them are friendly.

"Ah, Bernie! You are also here to see the flowers of Brigid?" Petra says.

"Um, about that. I'm sorry, I tried to take good care of them, I swear."

Petra crouches to inspect the plants, prodding them with dexterous fingers. Her hair falls against her shoulders. The handiwork of her braids catches Bernadetta's eye; she has only just started brushing her own hair as a way of signaling it's time to go outside.

"The fault is not yours. I am thinking it was a bad idea to plant them here. The soil and light are unlike that of my home," Petra says.

"Those poor plants. We basically kidnapped them, huh?"

Petra's brow creases, a sign that would usually scare Bernadetta. But Petra never shouts; instead, she seems sad, and Bernadetta realizes her poor choice in words.

"It is... difficult to adapt to such an environment. Plants are not up to the task," Petra says.

"I know the feeling." All those years ago, she was bagged up like a fern herself and brought to the academy. Is that how it was for Petra, too? At least Bernadetta never had much reason to miss home.

Petra stands, straightening her shoulders as if to push off the overcast day. "We have learned something with this experiment. That is valuable. May I be taking a look at your painting?"

Bernadetta starts. Watching Petra made her forget about the brush in her hand. If it were anyone else, she would say no, but it's hard to imagine Petra criticizing her. "Okay, but it's not finished yet, so don't expect it to be good."

She shuffles aside, biting her lip while Petra studies her work. Even inhaling the floral fragrance can't settle her nerves. Expressions cross Petra's face too quickly to sketch, not pinning down a single reaction for Bernadetta to cling to.

"These colors, these shapes... It is like you have revived them. Like I am seeing them thrive in Brigid soil again," Petra says.

"You really mean that?"

"Of course. Your artistic skills give me amazement. Could you teach me how to paint like you?"

"You want to paint like me?" She fiddles with her paintbrush. Petra can already do everything else; why would she want that? "Oh, so you won't need me to paint next time?"

"That is not true. When I say 'like you,' I mean your skill gives me admiration. Only Bernie paints like Bernie. That is one of the amazing things about art."

"Huh. Yeah, that's a good point. No replacing an artist, is there?"

"Nobody needs to be replacing anyone. For example, without you, nobody would cook the meat I hunt so well. And you have been great company in the dining hall lately."

The unexpected compliments make Bernadetta's face heat. "Yeah, well, I figured I should stop waiting until everyone's asleep to eat." Or hoarding food like a squirrel, not that she'll admit she did that when Petra gathered so much of it.

"Speaking of favors, may I be asking one of you?"

"Um, okay," Bernadetta says before she can question it. She left the continent once for Petra, after all.

"I have been wanting to add more of Brigid to the libraries of Garreg Mach, but it is not so easy to be describing it with words alone. May I be... May I use your illustrations? You were saying you would be making a book."

"Oh. That. I’m sorry, I didn't have time to draw enough while we were there." Why did she announce her plans for a project? That's a surefire way to disappoint someone.

Petra only smiles. "That is all right. Next time I am returning to Brigid, you can be coming with me."

"You want to go back already?" She's been thinking it might be nice to travel again, but that’s just a fantasy for future Bernie, who’s not still recovering from the last time.

"A part of me is always yearning for Brigid, but I cannot be returning until this war is over."

"Oh. That must be tough." She can't imagine staying away from her room for so long.

"It is. But your art has brought me great comfort. If one day, I am missing some of the sights of Fódlan, will you be painting them for me, too?"

It hits Bernadetta that Petra is inviting her for good. Inviting her _home, _where Petra's heart and duty live, where she plans to stay when all the fighting is done. Bernadetta's heart squeezes, bleeding like a squished tomato. "You... you'd really want me there?"

"Of course," Petra says, her smile like the greenhouse's sun, a little world's warmth. "I will have great loneliness without Bernie. But only if that is what you are wanting."

What does she want? The next few minutes are always filled with dangers and possibilities, battles to fight and pictures to paint. She doesn’t dare plan that far ahead.

As for Brigid, Bernadetta has never chosen a place to live or travel. She's only been planted and replanted in soil that leached parts of her. But Petra would never do that, and Bernadetta couldn’t go so far without her.

"I'll think about it. But, um, it sounds nice," Bernadetta says, and she means it.


End file.
